Not A Field Spook
by r4ven3
Summary: What happens when Ruth goes into the field? An AU story set early in S.10. A Ruth & Harry story, based on canon circumstances, but with a twist. A story in 8 chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"Ruth, you're needed here. _I_ need you here."

"But Dimitri, I know this man."

"And do you remember what happened last time? I haven't time for this, Ruth."

"But I spent time with him. I can talk to him. He knows me, and he'll listen to me."

Dimitri sighs heavily. "Okay, but stay low, and keep out of the way." All Dimitri can think about as he leaves the Grid with Ruth in tow is how Harry will chew him out about this when he finds out. Ruth is not and never has been a field spook, and bad things happen to her whenever she ventures into the field. Ruth is a magnet for mayhem, a draw-card for disaster.

* * *

Ruth stays close while he defuses the bomb in the basement of the block of flats. It is a basic unit, only a few steps up from schoolboy bombs, timed to detonate at 7.30 pm, when most residents will be sitting down to watch _Eastenders_. Ruth is on the phone to Keith Deery, himself living in 2E. It was Keith who had contacted Ruth and called it in.

"He's in a bit of a state, Dimitri. I need to see him and talk to him. He just needs to see a friendly face."

"Then I'm coming with you. Just let me call the bomb squad. They'll love this one."

Several minutes later, Dimitri and Ruth stand outside Deery's flat on the second floor. Dimitri has a bad feeling about this, an uncomfortable disturbance in his gut. He'd had the same feeling the day Lucas North took Ruth, the same day Lucas took a dive off the Enver Tower to his death. Something wasn't right, and he felt it was to do with Keith Deery, poor, sad, looney tunes Keith Deery.

"Perhaps we should call Social Services, Ruth."

"You know what will happen if we do. They'll lock him away, and pump him full of drugs ... like they did last time."

"That might be the best thing for him."

"No. I won't have it."

It is in that moment that Dimitri understands why it is Harry Pearce loves this woman. It is her fire and passion, her steely determination, and her boundless compassion which sets her apart from other people. That is an intoxicating combination in a woman, and Harry has been drunk on it for a long time. In a woman like Ruth, her obstinacy borders on being sexy. _Steady on, Dimi,_ he tells himself. _This is the boss's lady, and you've just thought of her as sexy!_

"Let me go in first, Ruth."

"No, Dimitri, he has a gun. If he sees you, he'll shoot you."

"And what if he shoots you?"

"He won't. He knows me."

And Ruth knocked gently on the door, calling out to Deery. "I'm coming in, Keith. It's me – Ruth." She opens the door slowly to find Deery standing in the middle of his living room, almost every surface covered with pages from newspapers – Deery's source of `information' – and in his hand is a pistol. _Oh, dear,_ she thinks, before she hears a _thwack_ and she is knocked down by a thud against her shoulder. She falls to the floor, her cheek connecting with the corner of a low table, and just before she loses consciousness, she has a very clear thought …... that she has just been shot in the same shoulder that Tom Quinn had shot Harry.

* * *

Ignoring the vibrating of his phone in his coat pocket, Harry tries to bring his mind back to the business at hand, the JIC meeting, which has already been in session for almost four hours, with only two brief comfort breaks. He contemplates the hell the smokers amongst them must go through every time a meeting is called. Only ten minutes later, lunch is announced, so Harry quickly leaves the room before he can be collared by Philip Churchett from GCHQ, no doubt lauding another of his prodigies. Churchett can have no idea how tight Section D's budget is, or he wouldn't be trying to foist another one of his bright young things on to him. He heads straight for the men's room, partly because his bladder is about to burst, but also to check who it is has been trying to ring him for the past 30 minutes. After relieving himself, he washes his hands, dries them under an interminably slow drier, and then checks his phone. There are eight unanswered calls from Dimitri. He rings Dimitri, and what his officer tells him has him racing out of the men's room, and down the corridor to the stairs, since the lifts would be too slow.

* * *

Harry is in a taxi on his way to the hospital when he decides to again ring Dimitri. He needs details, and he'd been too shocked and upset when last they'd spoken. He tells Dimitri in no uncertain terms that he thinks of him having taken Ruth into the field.

"She's an analyst, Dimitri," Harry found himself shouting into the phone. "She analyses. At a desk."

"But she insisted on coming."

"Then you should have insisted she stay on the Grid," he'd snapped.

"How successful have you ever been at making Ruth do something she doesn't want to?" As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Dimitri knew he had gone too far. He expected at the very least a thorough bollocking, and at worst a termination of his employment. Neither eventuate. Dimitri hears his boss sigh heavily into the phone, as Harry allows his shoulders to sag as he sits back against the upholstery.

"Yes, I know what you mean. I suppose she insisted on going into Deery's flat first."

"Yes, she did."

"That's just like her," he says quietly. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I know Ruth can be …... difficult to budge when she sets her mind on something. It's one of the many qualities which make her so good at her job."

"Perhaps you need to tell her that, Harry. Then she won't feel the need to prove herself to you."

Harry stares at his phone. After having made such a bold statement, Dimitri has hung up on him. _Cheeky bugger. Cheeky. Damned. Bugger._

* * *

By the time Harry arrived at the hospital, Ruth was out of surgery, and Dimitri was still sitting in the corridor outside her room. He stood as Harry approached, worry etched into the older man's face. Secretly, Dimitri envied Harry, with his clear and confident love for this woman. He has only known Harry for a little over a year, but the light of his love for Ruth seemed never to have dimmed, even for a moment. He hopes for himself one day to have such sure feelings for a woman, when he himself has difficulty maintaining interest in any one woman for more than a day or two.

"Now, where is she?" Harry said, looking around them to the doorways off the corridor, all of which were closed.

Dimitri pointed to the room behind his head, and Harry stepped to the window, through which he could see Ruth. She looked so small in the bed with all the machines and wires and drips around her. He felt suddenly so powerless to help her, to make things better, _to fix this_.

"Sir Harry Pearce?" a man's voice said from behind him.

"Yes." Harry turned to see a doctor in a white coat, complete with stethoscope hanging around his neck. "Dimitri, you may as well go," he said to his officer. "I'll stay here with Ruth, and …... thank you."

Dimitri stood, nodded to Harry, and began to lift his hand towards the older man, and then he dropped it.

"We'll cover for you, Harry," he said. "You stay with Ruth."

And then he left. The doctor had been standing by and waiting until he had Harry's full attention.

"Sir Harry, I'm Rod Melis, and I'm Ms Evershed's treating doctor," the doctor said, and Harry turned back to face him. "She has has you down as her next of kin. I'm assuming you're her partner, is that right?" Rod Melis had already noticed the tension in this man's body, and the concern in his face, and experience told him that this man was much more than a friend.

"Yes, I'm her partner," Harry replied, smiling inside himself at the open acknowledgement of that which was not yet open to public knowledge.

Strangely, neither he nor Ruth had yet to define what they are to one another. While he was suspended after he gave away Albany, he and Ruth had found ways to meet in private. It was risky, but when they'd managed to meet once without being caught, they simply continued. She'd bring him a meal late at night, or they'd exchange letters and notes in the park where he was walking Scarlet. On maybe a dozen occasions, she'd stayed at his house overnight, and they'd sat up all night on his sofa, talking and kissing, and laughing about the IA minders outside his house. Often they'd fallen asleep, stretched out on the sofa, their arms encircling the other. He'd had to exercise considerable self-restraint to not give in to the urge to take her to bed, but together they had agreed it would be better to wait until their lives had settled, and the enquiry was over before taking that step, despite one or two heavy sessions on the sofa, during which their commitment to waiting was tested. They had yet to consummate their relationship, but they considered themselves a couple, as did everyone else who knew them well.

"How is she?" Harry continued.

"She's lucky. The bullet missed anything vital, like lungs or heart, or arteries. She had internal bleeding which we eventually managed to staunch, and she has muscle damage, but we expect her to make a full recovery. We're waiting for her to wake up now, so if you'd like to sit with her ….."

"I'd like that very much."

The doctor followed Harry into the room.

"You can bring one of those chairs closer to the bed if you like," he said.

"Can I touch her?" Harry asked.

"Yes, of course. It would help if you held her hand, and even talked to her and stroked her cheek. Touch from loved ones is important. Sometimes patients need a little help in finding their way back to consciousness."

"How long before she wakes up?"

"Anything from another half hour to a day, perhaps even longer. Her body has been severely traumatised by what happened to her, so her brain may decide to give her a bit of time before she has to deal with the world again."

Rod Melis then left the room, and Harry was alone with the woman he loved. For the first time since he'd arrived, he looked at her closely. Her skin was pale, and there was a bruise on her right cheek bone which spread to the skin under her right eye, no doubt from when she fell. Dimitri had told him that after she'd been shot, she fell against the corner of a table. Under her gown her wound was heavily bandaged. He took her hand in both of his, and rubbed his thumb along her knuckles and her fingers, something he had done many times while he was on suspension. He leaned towards her, and placed a kiss on her lips. It felt quite odd to have her lips not responding to his. He imagined her lips moving under his, willing her to feel him, to know it is he, sitting beside her hospital bed, waiting for her to wake up. The sheer terror and panic which had begun to overwhelm him when he'd first spoken to Dimitri on the phone was slowly being replaced by love, and the will that she recover quickly and fully, and soon. He was suddenly aware that his love for her will heal her, while any fear he harbours for her safety could very well be damaging.

Of one thing he is absolutely certain …... he needs her, and she needs him.


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: Thank you all for reading, and also to those who reviewed._**

* * *

Ruth began to wake up just before eight at night. He had been holding her hand, talking quietly about the plans he had for them both. They'd only ever talked in general terms about having a future together; it is hard, when they are both so deeply entrenched in the security services, for them to even imagine having a life beyond Thames house. Harry had been doing little more than speaking aloud some of the ideas which were beginning to take shape in his mind, ideas he'd had while waiting for her to wake up.

It was straight after he'd talked about them buying a house in the country, and getting a dog, perhaps a Labrador or a German shepherd, or even an Afghan hound, that Harry felt her fingers move, and then to his joy, he noticed her eyelids flutter. It seemed like only minutes later that she began struggling with her breathing tube, and after alerting a nurse, who then called the doctor on duty on the ward, the tube was removed, and Ruth's first words to him, spoken in a raspy voice were, "You can talk such bollocks, Harry."

His face relaxed in a wide grin as he leaned down to kiss her lightly on her lips. This time she made a slight movement with her own lips, a welcome response to his kiss. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and hold her close to him, but there would be time for that at a later date, when she was better, when her shoulder wound had healed.

"You'd better keep good with those promises, too," she said, her eyelids heavy, her voice slurring on the consonants.

"Promises, eh?" quipped the nurse, who was occupied taking Ruth's vitals, the doctor (far too young to have people's lives in his hands, in Harry's opinion) had moved in to an emergency several rooms away. The nurse's name tag declared her name to be RN Vicki Bampton. "You make sure you keep him to them, too. Nothing less than two carats is worth having, I say. My sister got a three carat diamond after her car accident, but she lost an eye, so I thought she more than deserved the ring. It was him driving, too, so he had to make a grand gesture, or else she'd have dumped him." She slipped her pen back in her pocket, and looked directly at Ruth. "You're doing well, my sweet. My advice would be to get those promises in writing," and then she left the room, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the highly polished linoleum flooring.

Alone again, Harry looked at Ruth, who was almost asleep again, but with a smile on her lips. He reached across and kissed her slowly. "If only she knew," he said quietly.

"Go home, Harry," Ruth slurred.

"I'm going nowhere. My place is here. With you."

Ruth fell asleep again, but Harry held her hand in his, all the time rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. He was imprinting himself on to her, so that even if she ever – God forbid - lost her memory, she would still remember him. Just before Ruth had woken, he had made her a promise – aloud – and maybe she had heard it.

Nurse Vicki Bampton had assumed that he'd asked Ruth to marry him. He hadn't, although not because he didn't want that. He did. He wanted everything with Ruth that was possible for them to share. Just as she had been finding her way out of the fog of unconsciousness, he had been speaking to her, imagining that she could hear everything he was saying. Just before he had started talking about what sort of dog they could get to share their house in the country, he had promised her something that had popped into his head, and he'd then spoken the thought aloud …... perhaps unwisely. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to go through with his part of the bargain. It had just been a silly, spontaneous promise he'd made when he'd believed she couldn't hear him, or if she could, all she'd hear would be just the indistinct rumble of his voice.

* * *

Just before midnight, Harry went home to sleep. The stress of Ruth's shooting had exhausted him, and he knew that were he to have slept in the chair by her bed, his back would have ached all the next day. Next morning he stopped by the Grid.

"Anything on that bomb?" he asked Dimitri, the only field operative in at that early hour.

"I've handed it over to the police. It seems that it was a civilian matter. Something to do with a turf war."

"A turf war resulted in over two hundred people nearly being killed?"

"I'm only going by what the police have told me. It's not our territory, Harry."

"I know. I know it's not. And Deery?"

"He's in a closed facility awaiting assessment. There's a high probability he'll be sectioned."

Harry pursed his lips, as though that particular news tasted bad. "Ruth won't be happy about that."

"And how is Ruth? She must be fine, otherwise you wouldn't be here, yeah?"

"She's …... she woke up last night for a short while, and she was herself." Harry allowed his face to break into the gentlest of smiles, unconsciously displaying his pleasure at Ruth's recovery. "We had a brief conversation, and then she went back to sleep."

"Go back to her, Harry. She needs you. We can take care of things here."  
Harry nodded, and watched Dimitri's face in an attempt to determine if there was a hidden meaning behind his words. His staff knew about he and Ruth. At least, they _thought_ they knew what was going on between them. He and Ruth had made a conscious decision to play down their relationship, but to not hide it. Their occasionally arriving at work together in the morning had raised some eyebrows. No doubt the other Grid members mentally had them between the sheets on a regular basis, which was not the way it was between he and Ruth. They wanted to get to know one another away from work before they went to bed together, although staying away from the bedroom was becoming more and more difficult.

Their kissing sessions on the couch had recently led to some moments of heat during which one of them had had to call time out. Their hands would wander over the other, seeking skin under the layers of clothing. The closest they'd been to breaking their pact to not have sex yet had been only a few days earlier, when Ruth had invited him for dinner after work, and they had each had a few glasses of wine to relax after a long and difficult day on the grid. After they'd eaten, Ruth had playfully straddled him while he sat on his chair at the table. The sensation of her heat from between her legs pressed so closely against his groin had almost broken his resolve. The sight of her breasts so close to his face had not helped him maintain self control, either. He'd taken a deep breath, put his hands on her hips, and slid her body off his knees, explaining how close he'd come to tearing off her clothes, and sinking himself into her. They'd become used to experiencing arousal during their snogging sessions, but that time had been almost too much for Harry to resist.

"I want you _now,_ Ruth," he'd said to her, his voice thick with arousal, "and this is not the way I wanted our first time to be."

Ruth had slid off his knee, and sat demurely on the chair next to him. "How do you picture our first time?" she'd asked quietly, her legs primly together, her skirt covering her knees.

"In a bed – perhaps in an expensive hotel …... Paris would be nice. Big bed, clean sheets, room service, no phones."

"What if we can't manage that before we're both rendered decrepit?"

"Then it will have to be one of our beds – yours or mine. Not here, not on the couch, not against the door, not in the kitchen."

"I have this recurring fantasy where we have sex against the front door of your house."

"On the inner side of the door, I hope," he'd added quickly.

"Ohh …... I think shagging against the outside of the door might be fun. Just think of how the neighbours would react."

He'd laughed at that, and drawn her closer to kiss her, unable to keep his distance from her for long.

Harry could see that once Ruth recovered from her operation on her shoulder wound, they would no longer be able to hold back. Their time together may be limited - they had little idea what the future would bring - so when Ruth was well enough, he knew they should make the most of their passion for one another. Had Deery been in full control of the pistol he'd pointed at Ruth, the shot could have been fatal. A bullet through her heart would have killed her instantly. Harry shuddered briefly at the thought, pulling his mind away from the image of Ruth's body lying pale and still on a slab in a hospital morgue.

"Are you alright, Harry?"

"Yes, Dimitri, I'm fine. Just a bit …... tired still."

Erin breezed on to the Grid, looking like she'd visited her hairdresser on her way. Her high heels clicked on the floor as she approached Harry and Dimitri.

"I take it that Ruth is awake," she said.

"Yes," Harry replied. "I'm thinking that I should perhaps …..."

"Go back to her bedside, yes," Erin said, looking Harry up and down. "I've been in touch with the Russian Embassy. With your permission, Harry, I'm thinking of bringing Alec White back for the next few weeks. Just until the Russian contingent leave. You need to be free to spend time with Ruth. She needs you. We need her back with us, and I think that will happen quicker if you spend as much time with her as you can."

Harry nodded, surprised by her compassionate attitude towards Ruth's hospitalisation, although Erin must have noticed how important Ruth was to the smooth running of the section, and now he is back on the Grid himself, how important she is to him. When he was free later in the day to give it more thought – after he'd spent time with Ruth - he knew he'd question the wisdom of bringing Alec back to the Grid to help work with the Russians, but at this moment - at just after 7 am - his mind was already a few miles away, at the hospital with Ruth. He wanted to be there. He _needed_ to be there. Ruth needed him.

"If you're on top of it, then, Erin …..."

"We are, Harry. Lucy can step up into Ruth's shoes for the interim. She'll make a fine chief analyst one day …... when …..."

It wasn't like Erin to not finish her sentences. Her thoughts, her words, were always well thought out, and her sentences clipped, and with a full-stop at the end.

"When what, Erin?" Harry asked.

"When …... when Ruth moves on."

"Do you know something I don't?"

"No, of course not. I was just thinking that with you and Ruth being …... together ….. you might …..."

"Changes of any kind are not in the offing, Erin. I can assure you that Ruth will be back on the Grid, and at her desk as soon as she can. Nothing will hold her back."

"I was thinking aloud, Harry, and it's none of my business. I'm sorry. I have work to do, and you have a hospital visit to make."

Erin then turned from him, and walked away from him, her hair bobbing on her shoulders, and her heels clacking on the hard floor. Harry turned back to his office, chiefly to get away from the Grid floor, and any eyes which may have been following their conversation. What had she meant? Did she know something he didn't? Had Ruth confided something to Erin? Harry thought the likelihood of Ruth confiding in Erin about as likely as snow in August. He knew that Ruth was capable of so much more than being his senior analyst. She was brilliant. She could do almost anything she wanted to. There would be jobs in any security service in the world that she could slot into with ease, and then there was the possibility of her teaching in universities. He often worried that he was holding her back by relying on her the way he did.

There was also the possibility that Erin was hinting that he and Ruth would one day marry, and perhaps have children. He and Ruth had never once mentioned the word marriage in relation to themselves. They discussed a future together, but the word `marriage' had never been uttered. It was too soon. But in his private moments, Harry often dreamed of he and Ruth sharing a house, a name, and perhaps a child. He knew it to be the foolish and sentimental meanderings of an aging man, but a man could dream, couldn't he? He thought Ruth would make a wonderful mother, and he was prepared to be a different kind of father to the one he'd been. Yes, their work _was_ incompatible with marriage and a family, but he'd like to at least give it a try. With Ruth, a life together had the potential for being wonderful.

By the time he reached the hospital, it was lunchtime. Harry knocked on Ruth's door, and when he heard her voice, he entered the room. There was Ruth, sitting up in bed, a tumbler of something gooey in front of her, a thick straw bent at a right-angle so that she could suck the mashed food into her mouth.

"Hi," she said quietly, smiling at him. "This is my first solid meal, if this mash can be called solid. I feel like a baby all over again. It's quite nice, really." Her voice was still husky from the breathing tube.

"Hi yourself," Harry replied, watching her for a moment, taking in everything about her. The bruising on her cheek and under her eye was dark and angry, and he noticed that she had to use her right hand for everything, since her left arm was wrapped tightly against her body, no doubt to protect her damaged shoulder muscles. Her eyes looked bright and alert, and for that he was thankful.

Smiling at her, he walked to her side and then stood there. He reached out towards her with his hand, but then left it dangling, not sure whether she'd welcome him touching her.

Ruth pushed her meal away, and took a sip of water from a glass. She turned towards him, and smiled widely. "Don't I even get a kiss?"


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Thanks again for the generous reviews, and the interest in what Harry had promised Ruth. All will be revealed, but not until Chapter 8. However, I'm updating almost daily, so that won't be too far into the future. Hint: It's totally random, and you won't ever guess what it is!_**

* * *

Harry moved his dangling hand to the pillow behind her back, and reached down to kiss her. The first kiss was brief and without feeling.

"Again, please," Ruth said, before he'd had a chance to pull away from her. "This time I think you should kiss me properly."

"But Ruth -"

"Harry …... kiss me like you mean it."

So he did. Harry leaned down to her and kissed her with feeling. All the longing and the fear for her recovery, and his own missing her was poured into that kiss. There was just the slightest touch of tongue on tongue before he pulled away. "I miss you," he said, his voice husky with contained feeling. "I miss you so much."

"I miss you too, Harry, although I've been sleeping a lot …. so maybe I haven't missed you like you've missed me. I'm being given a cocktail of drugs, so I may not be responsible for some of what I say or do, but it might be fun."

"You're in a hospital bed, Ruth. How much fun can we have?"

"Why don't we talk dirty?"

"_Ruth!_ That must be the drugs talking."

Although Ruth's eyes were bright, and her face appeared quite tired and drained and white from her physical ordeal, and the bruising under her right eye was vivid and angry, she managed to break into a cheeky smile. "Harry Pearce," she said huskily, "you're just adorable when you're shocked."

"Christ, Ruth, I thought you were serious."

"Perhaps I am. Either way, talking dirty while I'm imprisoned here with a drip in my arm, and all this other paraphernalia I'm hooked up to is about the only option we have."

"I'll pass on the dirty talk, if you don't mind. You of all people should know how suggestible I am."

She did. On one of their private times together, rather early in their relationship, Ruth had commented that the new bra she was wearing was uncomfortable. Without thinking about it, she'd dipped her hand into her neckline, and adjusted the left cup. When she'd looked up at Harry, she saw a cocktail of desire, lust and love in his face, and a brief glance downwards had reinforced her perception that Harry had been aroused by her words (and maybe her actions as well.)

Ruth lay back against the pillows, and reached out to grasp Harry's hand with her right hand.

"We'll have to content ourselves with hand-holding," she said, smiling across at him. "Now, tell me what's been happening at work. What will happen to Keith Deery?"

* * *

Five days after she was shot, Ruth was discharged from hospital. Harry wanted to take her to his house, but she was adamant about staying in her own flat.

"I understand your need for independence, Ruth, but this isn't the time for it. I can look after you in my house, and still have time to pop in to work."

"But I don't want to put you out."

"It will put me out less were we both living under the same roof, than if I have to keep going to yours to visit you."

"Okay," Ruth said quietly.

Harry was sensing victory, but he could tell by the creases on her forehead that they had not yet reached the finish line.

"So you'll stay at my house for your recovery? I'd like that."

"Where will I sleep?"

"Wherever you like, Ruth. There's my bed. I'm not asking you to sleep with me biblically, but were we sharing a bed, I could keep an eye on you during the night."

"Do you have any other beds?"

"Of course. There's a guest bedroom which has a double bed, and there's another small room with a single bed, and there's a divan bed in my office. You might prefer the guest bedroom. It has its own bathroom. That way you won't have to share my en suite with me."

They were sitting on a bench in the atrium of the hospital. Considering that beyond the walls of the hospital one of the largest cities in the world rumbled and roared, the atrium was an oasis of calm and quiet. Ruth sat back and lifted her face to the glare from the glass above them. She closed her eyes and breathed in. Harry also sat back, wondering whether she expected him to say more. Should he keep talking? Should he plead? Should he appeal to her need for comfort? This was one of those times when Ruth bewildered him. She confounded him more than any woman he had ever met, and yet her mystery was one of the things he loved about her. She was not like any other woman he'd ever been attracted to, and that alone intrigued him.

What was it about Ruth that drew him in, moth to a flame? Where did one begin? He found her sexy – definitely – and funny – most of the time – intelligent – always – and …... and …... unique. He had never met anyone quite like Ruth. He had never experienced a time with her when he'd been absolutely sure of what was going on in that incredible brain of hers, or how she would react. He was never, _ever_ bored by her, and he had always become bored by the women he'd been with in the past. Even Jane's nagging about him never being home had become repetitious and downright boring …... even when most of the time she'd been right.

Ruth was an enigma …... a sexy, intelligent, funny, quirky, confounding enigma, and he loved her with every cell of his body, and every breath he took. He couldn't help himself, and nor could he go back and decide that loving her was too hard, too painful. It was too late for that. He was hers, whether she wanted him or not, and he was fairly certain she wanted him. She had a way of looking at him which set his body alight. He'd feel movement in his trousers, a flush on his cheeks, and butterflies in his tummy, and sometimes all she'd done was look at him with open appreciation. When it happened on the Grid, which it often had, he could only hope he'd be sitting down. On the few occasions when he had been standing in front of her, he'd smiled at her, turned and walked quickly away.

"Harry," she said at last, opening her eyes, but looking around her and not at him. "Are you asking me to stay at your house hoping I'll stay there after I'm well, and so then you'll have me where you want me?"

"_What_? Ruth, what does that even mean? I'm asking you because it will be the most convenient for us both. Alright, so you may prefer your own place, and -"

"I don't. I don't prefer my own place." Ruth turned to look at him. Her face was serious, but there was at last a softness around her mouth.

"You don't? Why not? I thought that's where you wanted to go after you leave hospital."

"Not really. I was just trying to determine whether you want me in your home while I recover, or whether you're being heroic."

"_Heroic_? Christ, Ruth, I'm no hero. I'm just trying to solve the problem in front of us. I want you in my house – yes – and I want you to stay with me – yes – but I don't want you to be there if you'd rather be somewhere else. I'm not a martyr. We've talked about having a future together, but I don't see your injury as an opportunity to fast-track the living-together process. I'm not a predator waiting to pounce. You're free to live wherever you want."

She smiled at him then, a wide and loving smile, and she reached out with her hand and lay it on his knee. "Thank you, Harry, and I beg to differ. You _are_ heroic. You're _my_ hero."

Harry felt tears well in his eyes. He rarely cried. He'd cried the night Ruth had left to go into exile, and he'd cried after Ros's funeral, although on that evening he was grieving two losses – Ros, and Ruth, who had turned down his poorly-timed marriage proposal. He allowed a few tears to roll down his cheeks, and he willingly accepted the kiss Ruth offered him.

"My hero," she whispered against his cheek. "You are _my_ hero, Harry."

Tentatively, he reached around her with his arms, and pulled her closer. She didn't flinch or pull away, so he pulled her against him, and pressed his lips into her hair. "I'm no hero," he repeated, his voice quiet. "I'm just a man who loves you."

Ruth pulled away from him then, and looked at him, her eyes scrutinising his face. She reached up with her right hand, and stroked his cheek, brushing away his tears with her thumb. "I heard what you did for Keith Deery," she said quietly, placing her lips gently on his own. "Nothing is sexier to me than a man who is prepared to act from his heart rather than his ego, a man who is prepared to act with compassion."

"I couldn't just let him wallow in one of those government institutions, Ruth. He would have died in there. I felt responsible for what happened to him …... even though he shot you."

"Had he known it was me, I'm certain he wouldn't have pulled that trigger. I've no doubt he thought I was a government agent come to take him away."

"Which – technically – you were."

"When I'm more mobile, Harry, can we visit him? It's a lovely hospital you have him in. It was the act of a good man, Harry."

"I have to confess that I only paid for his first month in the hospital. The Home Office is picking up the rest of his tab."

"Does Towers know that?"

"Probably not. I made the arrangements through his staff, and all his PA needed was his signature. That was not terribly heroic of me, Ruth."

Again, Harry pulled her towards him, and slid his arms around her. She tried to snake both her arms around his neck, but flinched when the muscles in her left shoulder strained and hurt her. Slowly and reluctantly she pulled away from him.

"It's time for us to go, Harry. To your place."

* * *

Ruth had been advised to take a minimum of a further two weeks off work. Three times a week, Harry drove her back to the hospital for her physiotherapy sessions, and while there, Ruth also took time for a swim in the hospital pool. Her body was getting stronger every day, and her mobility was improving. By her tenth day at Harry's house she was preparing dinner for them both, but aside from that, she spent her days on the sofa in the sitting room, reading or watching DVD's. Curled up on the other end of the sofa would be Harry's dog, Scarlet, careful to not touch Ruth's feet, the little dog's eyes opening quickly whenever Ruth moved. Scarlet had not yet figured out who Ruth was, and what she was doing in the house shared by she and her human.

Ruth had chosen to sleep in the double bed in the spare room, not because she wanted to, but because she thought she should. Just as she'd been worried about what their work colleagues would think had they dated openly five years earlier, she was worried about how Harry would feel about her were she to offer to share his bed. It seemed too late now to change her mind.

On the morning of the tenth day living in Harry's home, the front doorbell rang. This hadn't happened in the days Ruth had been living there. Harry was at work for most of the day, and managed to get home for dinner by 7 each evening. Ruth lifted herself from the sofa, and walked down the hallway to the front door. She opened the door to find a tall and elegant, but haughty middle-aged woman standing on the other side.

"Is Harry Pearce here?" she asked in heavily accented English. Ruth's brain registered Moscow-accented English. Is this woman Ilya Gavrik's PA? No, too posh, and besides, his PA would no doubt be a man. His wife?

"And who might you be?" Ruth asked coolly.

"I need to speak to Harry. Is he here?"

"And I asked you who you are," Ruth persisted. She had a fair idea about the identity of this woman.

"Tell Harry I called," the woman said, lifting her face in a haughty manner.

"I'm unlikely to tell him anything unless you tell me who you are."

Suddenly, the older woman's face broke into a smile – not a very nice smile, but a smile all the same. "You must be Ruth," the woman said. "I have heard about you," and then she held out her hand for Ruth to shake.

Ruth ignored her hand. "I think you'd better go," she said, and quickly closed the door.

Ruth went back to the sitting room, and picked up her mobile phone from the coffee table. Her hands were shaking, and she could feel her heart pounding inside her chest. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she pressed the first number on speed dial, and the call was picked up after the second ring.

"Ruth, are you alright?" Harry said – mildly panicked and slightly louder than usual.

"I was until ten minutes ago. I've just had a visit from Elena Gavrik."


	4. Chapter 4

"Don't go anywhere," Harry said into the phone before he hung up.

Ruth hadn't asked him to come home, but since he was already on his way, she wasn't about to try to stop him.

She was in the kitchen making a pot of tea when Harry arrived home. He called her name, and she called back to him. His face when he walked through the kitchen door told her that he'd no doubt driven home well above the speed limit, imagining the worst. He stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at Ruth, and then strode across the room, and took her in his arms. They had worked out a way to embrace which allowed her to use her shoulder without unduly stretching her muscles. Harry pulled her against him, so that she could feel the rapid beating of his heart against her chest.

"Did she do anything to you, Ruth? Threaten you …... anything?"

"No, she just wanted to speak to you. She wouldn't tell me who she was, but I knew anyway. After what you'd told me about you and her and Berlin, I …..."

"It was the cold war, Ruth. Everyone was shagging someone who wasn't their usual partner."

"I know, Harry. I can deal with that. After all, you didn't know me back then, and if you had, well …... I was just a child."

"What then? What's wrong, Ruth? I can tell that something is wrong."

"It sounds silly now you're here."

"Silly or not, tell me."

Ruth pulled away from him, but kept her arms around his waist. She felt grounded and safe in his presence. He felt solid under her hands, like the trunk of an oak tree. That was one small detail she planned keeping to herself. She searched his face, and all she saw was love and concern. "It was what she didn't say. She sounded like she knew something I didn't know."

"Given the circumstances, I'm sure that's true."

"And she knew my name."

"_What_?" Harry pulled away, and with his hands holding hers, he stared at her, all the time with his mind ticking over at breakneck speed. "There's no way she can possibly know your name. Other than those on the Grid, no-one else knows you're here."

"You haven't accidentally let my name drop to anyone?"

"No-one, Ruth. I've mentioned you to no-one. I'm fairly certain even Towers doesn't know we're together." Harry thought for a minute, and then his face changed. His pursed lips told her that something had displeased him. "Unless," he added, "the FSB were tailing me while you were in hospital. Had they done that, it would have been simple enough to discover your name, and to follow us here when you were discharged. I thought I had my eye out for a tail on us, but obviously I wasn't sharp enough."

"I'm so sorry, Harry."

"It's not your fault, Ruth." He again put his arms around her, and held her against him for a few minutes. Ruth noticed that his heart rate had slowed, but it was still faster than it should have been. She momentarily hoped that Harry wasn't going to consider that she was more trouble than she was worth. That would be another thought she'd not share with him.

"I got a strange vibe from her, Harry," Ruth said, pulling out of his embrace to pour them tea. "It was like she came here during the day, knowing you wouldn't be here, but she obviously knew I would be. She came here to show herself to me."

Harry sat down heavily at the table, and accepted the cup of tea Ruth had poured for him. "Sit down, Ruth," he said, indicating the chair opposite. "I can't go back to work. She might come back, and I want to be here when she does."

As much as Ruth wanted to tell him to go back to work, she didn't. She felt safe with him in the kitchen with her. His wide and imposing, familiar presence was comforting, and she didn't want him to leave her alone in the house.

"I think she might want to meet with you, Harry. It's just what I think. She didn't say, but …..."

"Ruth …... Ruth, look at me. I have nothing to say to her. Alec is handling the Russian delegation, and you know very well what he's like. He won't tolerate game-playing."

Ruth looked at him at last, her face showing the beginnings of a smile. "Do you mean that? You won't see her? She's rather beautiful."

"I have you, Ruth. Why would I want her? I have never wanted a woman as much as I want you."

The silence in the room was heavy with words yet to be expressed, and feelings which had not yet been explored between them. Harry reached out and grasped her hand in his own. He caressed her palm with his thumb, while he carefully watched her, trying to convey to her some of his strength and his love.

Ruth looked up at him, and, torn between wanting to lead him upstairs, and wanting some details, she chose the latter. "Harry," she said quietly, "I need …..."

"I need you too, Ruth."

Ruth shook her head, eyes cast downwards, and forged ahead, aware that she was breaking a precious moment between them. They would have more moments such as this in their future. She pulled her hand from his, and looked across the table at him. "I know what you mean, Harry, and I need you in that way too. Not now, though. First, I need to hear about Elena. I know you no longer care for her, but I need to know. I need to know why she'd be here, at your front door, looking for you."

Harry pulled his hand back and sighed, his shoulders heaving under the weight of the sigh. He looked at Ruth, his mind battling to find a starting point. "What is it you need to know, Ruth? She wasn't the only affair I had while I was married. I am not about to be unfaithful to you with her or with anyone else. At the time, I thought I loved her, but in hindsight I believe it was little more than lust. Every agent I knew – ours, the CIA, the Russians – they were all at it with someone. I was a different man in those days." Harry waited, took a few deep breaths, and glanced across at Ruth, who was watching him carefully. "My aim was to turn Elena, but little did I know at the time that she was turning me. We used each other. She had a son, Sasha, who was conceived around the time we first began sleeping together. I assumed she was being careful when we …... and so I thought nothing of it when she announced she was pregnant. She appeared content with Ilya, and to cheat on him put her at great risk. He was a powerful man, even back then. It was only when the boy was five or so that she told me he was mine. I knew she was lying. I knew the boy – Sasha – and he had Ilya's cold eyes …... predatory eyes. Sweet face, but cold eyes. I'm not surprised that he's now with the FSB. I saw him briefly a few days ago. He looks a lot like Ilya as a young man, although not quite as tall."

"Would you like some more tea?" Ruth asked, rising from the table to turn on the electric kettle, and make another pot.

"Yes. Yes, I would, thank you Ruth."

They waited while the kettle boiled, and then Ruth poured boiling water on to the tea leaves in the pot. She carried the pot back to the table, and sat down, her quick glance across the table to Harry an indication for him to continue.

"I had said I'd meet her at a park in Berlin. Our plan was for me to extract her …... to London. I failed to turn up, so she was left there waiting for me. I never really intended bringing her back here. How messy would that have been? A turned Russian agent in a flat somewhere in London, her child attending an English school, while she spreads the word that he is my son. I couldn't have that, although at the time, I wasn't certain that she was using me. I _had_ to cut my ties with her, regardless of any consequences for her."

As Ruth poured them each a fresh cup of tea, he looked up at her. Her face was impassive, stoic, determined. This was harder for him than it was for her, and it was difficult for her.

"I'm not proud of what I did, Ruth. I didn't truly love her, and we used each other. That was the sum total of our relationship. It was the cold war – that is what happened then. I felt guilty for a long time, but she no longer has power over me, not any more."

"So, why would she come to your house during the day, and what does she want with me?"

Harry carefully sipped his tea, not wanting to burn his lips. "I don't know, Ruth, and I can only say that I'm so sorry my actions of 30 years ago have come back and spilled into your life as well as my own. I may have earned an irate visit from her, but you certainly haven't."

"Anything you are, anything you have done, Harry, informs the man you are today. I love the man you are now, and while I no longer feel the need to know everything from your past, I feel that there is more to this than you're telling me."

"There is, Ruth, but it truly belongs in the past, in a different time in history. Look …. if it makes you feel better, I'll have Elena tailed, and I can put a car outside the house to keep an eye on the front door."

"As much as I'd like to say that it's alright, and I'll be fine, I'd appreciate surveillance on the house, and yes, I think you need to find out where Elena goes, and who it is she meets."

Harry stepped out of the kitchen, and took out his phone to ring Dimitri. When he re-entered the kitchen, he again sat down, but this time, he chose the chair beside Ruth's.

"Dimitri is organising both, and so when he calls me again, it will mean that the surveillance car is in place, and I can go back to the Grid." He slid his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against him. "Ruth, I'm so sorry about this, but I'll get to the bottom of it. The only reason I'm not telling you more, is that I'm not sure myself what's going on."

He bent down and put his lips lightly on hers. She responded greedily, slipping her good arm around his neck and drawing him closer. The kiss soon became a proper kiss, hungry and lust-driven. Harry felt his body reacting rapidly, and when a moan escaped him, he gently pulled away from her.

"Ruth," he said, pulling further from her, his eyes still closed, his body warm from the sensations the kiss had created. "Darling, I have to go. I have so much to do back at work, and then Ilya Gavrik wishes to meet me at the Home Secretary's office at 3." He withdrew his arm from around her, and she sighed, and leaned against him, her body like jelly. "I want this, Ruth. I want it as much as you do, perhaps more, but we can't – _I_ can't – fully relax into this until we know what Elena is up to. I don't trust her. Were we to …... go upstairs …... I'd have one ear on the door, and the other on my phone."

Harry moved to stand up, and Ruth pulled her body upright, and looked up at him dolefully.

"I can't promise I'll make it home by seven, but I'll try. I'd much rather be with you than with bloody Ilya Gavrik, but …..."

"Duty calls."

"It does."

Ruth's eyes were on the front of his trousers, so Harry looked down to see that some adjustment was required. He turned away from her to compose himself, and push everything back into its rightful place.

"I won't kiss you goodbye, then," she said with a smile.

Before he could reply, his phone rang. "Yes?" he said gruffly to the caller. "Good. Thank you, Dimitri. I'll tell her."

As he pocketed his phone, Ruth spoke. "I take it I have my surveillance."

"You do." He picked up his coat from where he'd slung it over a chair, and shrugged it on. "I trust you to not flirt with the surveillance men."

Ruth smiled across at him, where he stood in the doorway to his kitchen. "I'll endeavour to control myself," she said.

"Good," Harry smiled at her.

He blew her a kiss before he left the room. His appointment with Gavrik was in less than three hours, and he had at least five hours of paperwork sitting on his desk.

Ruth heard the front door close, and then she sat back and finished her cup of tea, still wondering what Elena Gavrik had wanted with her.


	5. Chapter 5

Ruth hadn't expected Harry to be home by 7, but it was unlike him to not have rung to tell her. She'd tried his phone, but her call had gone to voicemail. It was a little after 8 o'clock, so she had no need to be worrying about him …... although that was exactly what she was doing. She had made them a simple fried rice for dinner, and keeping in mind that he may be held up, their dinner could be warmed up later, or even put in the freezer for another time.

The sound of the doorbell sent a shiver through Ruth's body, and her heart rate increased. The only person she was expecting was Harry, and he had his own key. It was his house, so of course he had a key. She hid in the kitchen, hoping that whoever was at the door would give up and leave. When her mobile phone rang, she jumped, and then answered it carefully.

"Ruth, it's Dimitri. You have to let me in. Harry warned me you might not want to open the door."

"Okay. I'll be there in a few seconds."

Dimitri looked back to the road and down the street before he closed the door behind him, and Ruth led him down the hallway to the kitchen.

"I know this isn't a social call, but would you like a tea or coffee?"

Dimitri stood inside the kitchen door, discomfort displayed in every muscle of his body. "Perhaps you need to sit down, Ruth."

No sooner had he spoken, than Dimitri realised how badly he had worded his last sentence. If he could have taken it back he would. Ruth's face said it all …... shock and fear for the safety of the man she loves. She sat down slowly, never taking her eyes from Dimitri's.

"Ruth, Harry's fine. Nothing has happened to him." He sat in the chair opposite her own. "He's had to go into hiding for a day or so. Until we sort out this Russian thing."

Relief showed on Ruth's face, and she rubbed her fingers across her brow, a slight smile on her lips. "You know how to shake a girl up, Dimitri. I think my heart rate doubled in the few moments after you told me to sit down. _Never_ do that to me again."

To take her mind off what Dimitri had told her, Ruth made them each a cup of tea. Dimitri sat in silence over his cup, while Ruth decided what questions she most needed answering.

"Ask me anything, Ruth," Dimitri said at last.

"Alright. So, is Harry in any danger?"

"Not now he's in a safe house, and it's one we've never used before. It's a new one. Most of our safe houses date back to the cold war, so there's …..."

"... danger the Russians know about them."

"Only a very slight danger, mind you."

"What happened to make Harry decide to hide? Harry's not normally afraid. He doesn't hide."

"No, Harry doesn't hide, and he didn't want to go to the safe house, but Erin made an executive decision. She believes the circumstances are severe enough that Harry needs to lay low, at least in the short term." Dimitri breathed in heavily before he continued. "Elena Gavrik has been murdered. They found her body in a room on the third floor of the Marriott Hotel. She'd been strangled with a tie from the curtains."

Ruth quickly drew in a breath, and then let it out. Then she was overcome by a wave of relief. She would no longer need to worry about what Elena had up her sleeve. On the other hand, nor would she ever discover why Elena had come to Harry's door earlier that day.

"Whose room was it?" she asked at last.

"It was booked in the name of Harry Pearce -"

Ruth took in a breath, and put her hand over her mouth.

"But seeing that Harry was in his office at Thames House at the time she was murdered – and there are more than twenty people who can attest to that - he's definitely off the hook."

"The room? Who would book it in Harry's name?"

"That's what we're now working on. Lucy – who's filling your shoes for the time being – and Tariq seem to have a grasp on that. When I last heard from Tariq, he was banging on about credit card and bank account searches and phone traces, and the CCTV footage both outside as well as inside the hotel. The indoor footage has been tampered with, as have a couple of the cameras outside the main door to the hotel. Tariq has found one camera – in the alleyway which runs beside the hotel – which has not been tampered with. When I left the Grid over an hour ago, he was about to search the footage from that camera. Alec and Lucy are visiting the hotel as we speak, interviewing the staff."

Ruth had a burning desire to help. The man she loved was in hiding, and she needed to help sort out this mess. "Dimitri," she began, keeping her eyes on the cup of tea in front of her, "can I help? What if I go into Thames House …... I'd take a taxi …..."

"Absolutely not!" Dimitri said firmly. "If I allow that, Harry will have me deported. He's still a bit cold towards me because I allowed you to enter Keith Deery's flat first."

"Why? That was my idea."

"Technically it was my call -"

"But I have seniority, Dimitri."

"Only on the Grid. Not in the field. If I allow you to leave this house unescorted, Harry will have a coronary. He loves you, Ruth."

Ruth looked up at Dimitri, staring at him.

"I've just said too much, haven't I?" he said, an embarrassed smile on his lips.

"No," Ruth replied. "It's just that I didn't think you knew …... _that_."

"Everyone knows it." He smiled across the table at her with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "It's a bit hard to miss. Like …... you're quite discreet about it, but Harry watches you like a hawk. In my opinion he's a bit over-possessive."

"He's not possessive, Dimitri, just protective. It's what he does best."

"Speaking of Harry …..." Dimitri scrabbled around in his jacket, searching in all the pockets, until from his inside breast pocket he withdrew a piece of paper, folded several times. "This is for you," he said, handing the paper over to her. "Harry wanted me to give to to you. And I haven't read it, in case you're wondering."

Ruth took the note, and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans. She'd read it later. "I take it Harry is dark – not in communication."

"He has an untraceable phone for emergencies only. I doubt he'll have cause to use it. He only needs to be in the safe house until we know who it is killed Elena, and why, and it's possible we'll know that before morning. There may be a chance that the same people who want Elena killed also want Harry."

"Dimitri …... do you think that perhaps Elena was killed by someone close to her? Her husband or son? Someone in the FSB?"

"Why do you say that?"

"I only saw her briefly, mind you, but I suspect that she's a woman who arouses high passions in others – love or hatred. This may be an act of passion, and it may have little to do with the world of espionage."

"I'll consider that, but we can't do very much until the police have dusted for prints and looked for traces of DNA …... chiefly in the tie which strangled her …... and the CCTV footage is examined, and the identity of the person who booked that room is found. We should know more in a couple of hours."

"Just one thing, Dimitri. Did Harry get to meet with Ilya Gavrik at 3?"

"No, he didn't. He was about to leave the Grid when the news came through about Elena."

"How did he take the news?" Ruth was unsure about the wisdom of asking that question.

"He seemed shocked, but mostly I'd say he was …... relieved. Yeah, he seemed relieved. One less Russian, eh?"

Dimitri smiled at Ruth, and she returned his smile. She also felt relief that Elena was dead.

* * *

Once Dimitri had left, Ruth took out the note from Harry, and sat on the sofa in the sitting room while she read it. Scarlet trotted into the room, and looking around and noticing Harry wasn't there, she again left the room. The letter was written on a page torn from an A4 notepad, and the paper was old and faded, as though it had been lying around in the safe house for years.

_Dearest Ruth_, he wrote. _ By the time you read this Dimitri will have informed you of Elena's death. I can't lie to you, Ruth. I am relieved – even quite happy – that Elena is gone. As you and I have __grown closer over the past months, I have felt Elena's presence between us, and I don't know why __this is. It's not as though I truly loved her, or saw myself having a life with her. I feel that she has __had a power over me, over us, which has been unnatural and unhealthy for us both. _

_I am sorry that I can't contact you directly. As you know, this is normal procedure for those in safe houses. I hope the people behind Elena's death can soon be found, and that I can then leave this uninspiring place. It smells of damp and death. I left a message with Dimitri to tell you that you shouldn't go into the Grid to help out, even if you really want to. I threatened Dimitri with a horrible punishment should he allow you to go into work. I need you at home getting better, getting stronger. Selfishly, I need you at home when I get out of here. I shouldn't need to be here for long. _

_I can't wait to hold you again. When my mind is not occupied with thoughts of who it is may wish Elena dead (and that list is becoming quite long) it is crowded with images of you. _

_I love you._

_H_

Ruth read the note three times before she folded it and took it upstairs to her room. She tucked it between the layers of her underwear in a drawer. As she closed the drawer, she looked around the room with a critical eye. It was a very pleasant room, neat and tastefully furnished, but it wasn't terribly `Harry'. Ruth suspected that he had either had a decorator in, or else he'd asked a female – his daughter, perhaps? - for advice on how it should best be furnished. As much as she was comfortable in this room, she didn't belong there. Which was when she had an idea.

Ruth knew Harry wouldn't mind her going into his bedroom and taking a look around. She opened the door and stepped through into the room. Now this was more the Harry she knew. The bed was made, the smoky blue duvet pulled up and neatly arranged, while the navy blue pillowcases on the pillows set off the bed as belonging to a man ….. a tidy and well-organised man. It was a large bed, perhaps king size. Ruth had little idea why one man would need a king size bed, but perhaps Harry had harboured hopes. The dresser and closet were of polished walnut, and all the drawers and doors were closed. Ruth had known he was a neat freak, but closed drawers and closet doors? That bordered on OCD.

There was little sign of the man who slept here, other than a photograph on top of the dresser. Ruth moved closer, to see an enlarged photograph of Harry and his two children playing at the beach. The children were quite small – perhaps five and two – and Harry was a slimmer, more hirsute version of his current self. His hair was curly, showed signs of receding early, and he wore a wedding ring. So this had been taken while he was still married to Jane. He'd been an attractive and well-built man. Ruth's eyes wandered over his image, taking in the legs, the chest, the strong shoulders and arms, and even – against her conscious will – the bulge in his bathing costume. Yes, Harry did appear to be well built in all areas.

Leading off Harry's bedroom was the en suite bathroom. In there she would likely find some more personal items of his, but she drew the line at wandering in there. She sat on the bed and bounced her body up and down on it. She then moved around to the side farthest from the door (assuming Harry slept on the side closest the door) and, slipping off her shoes, she slid under the duvet, and lay on her back, her head resting on the pillow next to Harry's pillow. She lay there for a while, feeling for all the world like Goldilocks, checking out the beds in the house for the one that felt `just right'. It was a comfortable bed, with a luxurious and comforting feel to it. She turned her head, imagining Harry lying on the other side. She then lifted her head and buried her face in the fabric of his pillow. As expected, it smelled delightfully of Harry's smell, and Ruth felt tears spring to her eyes. She wished so much that he were with her, that he were coming home to her tonight.

Without thinking too much about it, Ruth slid out of bed to take off her jeans and her jumper, and stepping back under the duvet wearing only her knickers and a camisole, she grasped Harry's pillow, and hugged it close to her. Turning on her side, she allowed herself to drift off to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews. Things get slightly M-ish for a moment in this chapter.**_

* * *

Ruth awoke next morning refreshed, having slept for almost nine hours. She was quite secure in the knowledge she'd no longer be sleeping in the guest bedroom. Somehow, she knew Harry wouldn't mind her company in his bed. Somehow, she knew that she and Harry were about to take a new step forward in their relationship. Ruth sat up, and was about to put her feet on the floor, when she heard her phone ringing from inside the pocket of her jeans, so she grabbed her jeans and felt around for her phone, catching it in mid-air as it fell out of a pocket.

"Yes?" she said, exasperated. Who would be ringing her at 6 am, especially when she had no need to be up at this hour?

"Ruth," she heard a deep and mellow voice say her name in the way no-one else ever could. No-one but Harry said her name like a prayer …... with such deep respect, like a vow of love.

"Harry, you're out!"

"I haven't been in gaol, Ruth, although it felt like gaol to me."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at work. The mystery of Elena's murder has been solved. Look, I'll tell you about it when I get home. I have an hour's work here, and then I have an 8 o'clock appointment with the HS. After that I'm coming home. You can expect me any time after 9 am. I can't wait to see you."

"I'll be here, Harry. I look forward to seeing you."

"I've missed you, Ruth."

"Me too," she said quietly, unable to say anything else.

They hung up, and Ruth made a quick mental note of everything she needed to do before Harry came home …... shower, dress in some clean clothes, have breakfast, gather together some ingredients for lunch, hoping that Harry will be staying at home for the day. It was Saturday, after all. She had to tidy the guest bedroom, put through a load of washing, tidy Harry's bed …... (_Who's been sleeping in my bed?_) She may as well get started.

Ruth had no sooner finished all the jobs she'd assigned herself and made a pot of tea than she heard Harry's key in the front door. It was a little after 10 o'clock. She put down the kettle of boiling water, and ran to the door. As he turned from keying in the security code, she threw herself at him and grabbed him around the neck with her good arm, while her left hand grasped his coat at his waist. Harry put both his arms around her, and held her close, and then he pulled back to kiss her. It was only a quick kiss.

"I smell like a wrestler's armpit, Ruth. The first thing I need is a long soak in a hot bath."

"Damn," she replied. "I didn't even think to run you a bath."

"I don't expect you to wait on me. I'm just glad you're still here. I was afraid you may have gone back to your own place."

"And miss out on kissing you hello? Not likely."

Ruth grasped his hand, and led him to the kitchen. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

Harry looked at her with a strange smile, the kind of smile that told her he was interpreting her question in another way.

"Are you in need of food?"

"I could do with a cup of tea and some boiled eggs with soldiers."

"Soldiers?"

"Yes. I need a soak in the bath for a half hour or so, then I'd like tea, eggs, and soldiers. I'll make them, though."

"No Harry, I'll make them. I want to …... wait on you, just this once. I've missed you."

Harry stepped closer to Ruth, and leaned towards her to plant a kiss on her cheek. "I've missed you more."

When Harry hadn't appeared downstairs after forty-five minutes, Ruth went in search of him. She thought he may have fallen asleep, but he wasn't in his bedroom. There was no sound from the en suite, so she walked quietly through the open door into his bathroom and stood just inside the doorway. Harry was submerged in the bath, his head resting against the end of the tub, his eyes closed. Silently she ventured closer, kneeling beside the bath. There were vestiges of bubbles on the surface of the water over his feet, but the remainder of the water was clear, giving her an open view of his submerged body. Whilst she and Harry had fooled around a bit on the sofa – at her place and at his – they had not yet seen one another naked. Ruth quickly checked that Harry was really asleep, which he seemed to be, his breathing steady and regular, his eyes closed. She rested her chin on her arms on the edge of the bath, and gazed at the body of this man, the depth of the water creating a prism through which Harry's body appeared slightly distorted, and his skin much whiter than she believed it to be. To her surprise, his body was firmer than she'd expected, with just a softness around his belly and his sides. His limbs were firm, but she'd known that from running her hands over his arms and legs while they were engaged in their snogging sessions.

Despite her determination to not perve on him in a creepy way, Ruth could not take her eyes from his genital area. She'd felt his erection against her thigh or her stomach when their passions had risen, but she'd not touched him through clothing, nor had she seen him until now. After all, it would only be a matter of time …... wouldn't it? He was quite well endowed, but she'd not seen enough male genitalia to be making comparisons. He certainly appeared bigger than any other men she'd seen naked, and surely that couldn't all be down to distortion through the water. She was watching his penis under the water, when she was sure she noticed it growing, slowly but surely. Yes, it was lifting from the horizontal towards the vertical. _Christ – he must be having an erotic dream. Time for me to be out of here._

Ruth looked up at Harry, to see his eyes lazily watching her. She was sure her face would show how startled (and embarrassed) she was.

"See anything interesting down there?" he said, his voice thick and slow.

"God, I'm sorry. I was just …..."

"Checking me out."

Ruth nodded. "I thought you must have been having an erotic dream."

"Not this time. I opened my eyes, and there you were, checking me over, so naturally I felt ….. arousal. Do you want to come in here with me? It might be fun."

Ruth shook her head. "I came up here to check you were alright. I wanted to see if you were ready to eat. Food, that is."

"And while you were here, you thought you'd -"

"Harry, I'm sorry about looking at you without -"

"Don't be. The last person to see me naked was …... heck, I can't remember. It was so long ago."

Ruth stood up, and began to turn from the bath, ensuring she did not make eye contact with Harry.

"Ruth," he said, sitting up in the bath, and reaching out to grasp her hand. "I don't want you to feel embarrassed. I'm flattered that you want to look at me like that. It's good for my ego to have an attractive woman checking me out in the way you just did. I liked it. No, I loved it. Well, you can see how much I loved it. I don't want us to be shy about our bodies. I know my body is far from perfect …..."

"I think you're lovely," she said, turning to look at him. "I was …... admiring what I saw."

"That's good," he said, smiling, his hand still grasping hers. "Come in here for a while. I might even let you handle what you were admiring. Actually, the handling will be mandatory." His smile widened with his small joke. "We can fool around in the water."

Ruth stood for a moment, her hand in Harry's, looking into his beautiful eyes. She really wanted to join him in the bath, but she was not quite ready for it. She still felt a little silly that he'd caught her looking, and she needed to get away from him for a while, to pull herself together.

"I'd like that, Harry," she said, "but you have to eat, and then rest. We can …... do something …... later."

Before she could see the look of disappointment on his face, she withdrew her hand, and left the room.

* * *

When Harry came downstairs after his bath, he was dressed in an pair of faded blue jeans, a bulky cream-coloured cable-knit jumper which looked like a favourite from years ago, and his slippers. While he'd been in the bath, it had begun to rain, and the rain was steady and heavy, so heavy that it could be heard from inside the house, slapping on the pavement outside. Ruth had turned on the fire in the living room, and had brought the pot of tea, cups and Harry's eggs and soldiers, and placed them on the coffee table. She sat beside him while he hungrily tucked into his food. The scene in the bathroom was not mentioned. Harry had decided to let it slide, and Ruth was grateful for that. By the time she'd realised that she'd acted like coy schoolgirl, and that she _should_ have joined Harry in the bath, she could hear the water draining down the plughole. It had been too late to change her mind. Hopefully there would be a next time.

Nothing was said until Harry had finished eating, and was sitting back with a cup of tea in his hand. He rested his free hand on Ruth's leg. Ruth felt content at last. She knew where Harry was. He was here – in his house – with her, and that was the way it needed to be. Any embarrassment she may have felt about looking at him while naked in his bath had gone …... down the drain with the bath water. His body was a mature man's body with all the usual bits and bobs. For his age and lifestyle he was in remarkable shape, and he was …... rather well endowed. So what was her problem? Ruth realised that she had no problem with any of that. She'd just got into a habit of running from Harry whenever she felt embarrassed or put on the spot. That would have to change. It was wrong to punish Harry for her own coyness. He didn't deserve that.

"Tell me about how Elena died," she said after a while. "If you want to tell me, that is."

Ruth thought perhaps Harry hadn't heard her. He seemed to have no reaction to her question. He sat with his hand on her thigh, watching the fire, Scarlet was curled in a ball on the hearth, snoring loudly. After a minute or two, he began speaking.

"I won't go into the details of how we know this, but needless to say, Tariq deserves a promotion. Trouble is, he's already our top technical expert, so there's nowhere higher for him to go in Section D."

"Perhaps it's best to not tell him that, Harry. He might seek greener pastures elsewhere. I imagine the private sector would pay him well for his skills."

"I'm planning to not mention the words `private' or `sector' in his presence. I don't wish to lose him."

"Who was it murdered Elena?"

"Her son."

"Sasha Gavrik murdered his mother?"

"Yes. He later, in a fit of remorse, confessed to his father, and then his father shot him dead."

"God. That's awful."

"Dimitri mentioned that it was you who first mentioned the likelihood of Elena's murder being a crime of passion, and you were right. I spoke to Ilya in private before they put him on a plane to Moscow first thing this morning. He'll be dealt with there, although I suspect he'll be treated with a strange kind of respect. Elena was not at all popular in Moscow, and Ilya knows too much about too many people for him to be thrown into prison."

"Do you know why Sasha killed his mother?"

"Apparently she told him that he was my son, and he cracked up completely. I've no idea why he believed her, and I have even less idea why she would tell him that. DNA tests are being run on the three of them, just for Ilya's peace of mind, but I believe that he's satisfied Sasha was his son."

"So why did he kill his own son?"

"Because Sasha had killed his mother. Despite Ilya's total belief that Sasha was his blood, he loved Elena above all others."

"I thought Elena was being followed."

"She was. They followed her to the Marriott, and waited, but she never left. Sasha entered through a side door. It was Tariq who discovered that. Sasha strangled his mother with a sash that's used to tie back the curtains."

"Whose room was it?"

"Now, this is where Tariq shone. The person who arranged the room was a disgraced CIA operative by the name of Ed Field. The CIA kicked him out quite publicly when he was found to be working with the Russians. He went into hiding to avoid being sent to Guantanamo. He's maintained his Russian connections ever since, living out of a suitcase in Europe, travelling from city to city, using all manner of false identities and even disguises. He used my name to book the room, both to get Elena there, as well as to implicate me as still being run by her. Were something to happen to Elena, then I would have been chief suspect. Ed booked himself in at hotel reception. Now that he and I are both middle-aged, we bear a remarkable likeness to one another – physically at least. Ed was most likely hiding in the bathroom. It seems that had Sasha not killed her, Ed may have done it himself. She was the reason the CIA discovered he was a double agent."

"Why would Elena want to see you, Harry?"

Harry sighed heavily, lifted his hand from her leg, and grasping her hand tightly, he brought it up to his lips. "I can only speculate about that. I suspect that she wanted to meet me there, hoping Sasha would turn up, and find us …... you know …."

"In flagrante delicto."

"Perhaps, although the chances of that happening would be zero. Then, Sasha would kill me, and Elena would feel vindicated, claiming I'd forced her."

"Twisted bitch..."

Harry laughed lightly. "Yes. She was. I can see that rather clearly now. I was just too naïve and horny at the time I met her. I let my …... I thought with something other than my grey matter."

"I guess you're not alone there, Harry. Many healthy young men are guilty of that. It's what has kept the human race going for this long."

He looked at Ruth, and squeezed her hand. "I feel really awkward talking about this with you, Ruth."

"Why? You're human, Harry. You're not made of stone. You have drives and desires just like the rest of us. You were once a young man, and you behaved as young men often behave. It happens."

"Thank you, Ruth."

"I now know why she came here yesterday," Ruth said.

"You do? How?"

"We women have our own way of thinking. I think all she wanted to do was to rattle me. To let me know she was in town, and looking for you. Then when I contacted you, we'd fight about her, you would storm out, or hang up on me. Then when she contacted you, you'd think, `why the hell shouldn't I?' She'd ask you to meet her at the Marriott, she'd taunt you, shame you, and get you to admit you still wanted to sleep with her, and then out would come Sasha from behind the curtains and he'd kill you."

"Isn't that the plot of _Hamlet_, Ruth? Perhaps you've confused the two."

"It's not the plot of _Hamlet_, but it is rather Shakespearian in tone. It's too melodramatic for Chekhov."

"What this really means, though, is that there will be no trade agreement with Russia. Not this time, anyway. Perhaps some time in the future."

"Perhaps," Ruth replied, "perhaps next time Gavrik will come to London on his own, and so there'll be no three-act play going on in the wings."

"I think you may have mixed your metaphors, Ruth."

"No doubt I have. There's one thing which doesn't add up."

"Only one?"

"Harry …... if she was expecting to meet you at the Marriott, then how was she to get the message to you."

"I don't know, but I suspect she wanted to leave that message with you yesterday, and her plan backfired when you shut the door in her face. My clever Ruth."

Ruth looked into Harry's face, and for the first time saw the weariness there. In all the excitement of having him home again, she'd forgotten that he'd spent the night in a safe house. "Harry," she said, "do you need to catch up on sleep?"

He looked at her then and smiled weakly. "I am rather tired. I hardly slept at all last night. I was worried about you being here alone, and the bed at the safe house smelled like mould, and the mattress was lumpy. I think I might try to kip here on the sofa. It's cosy in here."

Harry stretched out on the sofa, and Ruth went upstairs to get the duvet off the single bed in the small bedroom. By the time she'd again entered the living room, he was snoring. She carefully arranged the duvet over him, tucking it around him, took off his slippers, and then gently kissed his cheek. She closed the curtains, and left the door ajar, just in case he wanted anything. In an instant the tables had turned. Ruth was now caring for her carer.

* * *

Harry slept until 5.30 pm, by which time, Ruth had cut up the ingredients to make almond chicken. She found a bottle of white burgundy in the cupboard above the sink, so she put that in the fridge to chill. When she went into the sitting room to check on Harry, he was stirring. She stood inside the doorway, watching him as he stretched and yawned, and scratched his chest. _Just like Scarlet,_ she thought. He didn't notice her watching him until he sat up.

"What?" he said.

"Nothing. I was just watching you. Are you hungry?"

"Starving. Don't tell me you've cooked dinner."

"All it needs is you and me to eat it."

Ruth reached out to take his hand, and and then she led him to the dining table.

* * *

It was getting on for 9 pm by the time they'd talked, eaten, and then finished the bottle of white burgundy, and talked some more. Nestled against one another on the sofa, Ruth could feel tension in Harry's body. She leaned against him, while his arm rested loosely around her shoulder. Ruth was experiencing a tension of her own, so she decided to dive in at the deep end.

"I'd like to return to work on Monday. I'm well enough, Harry, and don't tell me I need another week off. Unless you want me at home looking after you. I quite like looking after you, but I think I'm capable of more. I'm good at my job, and as effective as Lucy obviously is, she's not me."

"It was Lucy who uncovered the chatter about Ed Field's plan to kill me. She's pretty good."

"Harry, you know she'll never be as good as I am. My shoulder is still stiff, but I can type almost as well as I did before I was shot. And I promise I won't do any more field work. If someone wants me in the field – for any reason – I'll decline. If I get too tired, I'll go home, but I think I'm well enough -"

"Ruth …..."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I agree you should go back to work on Monday. I can see how unfulfilled you are being stuck here, especially when I'm not here for most of the day. Besides, I've missed your presence at work."

"You surprise me. I'd expected at the very least a discussion."

"What's there to discuss? If you're well enough to take care of me, you're well enough to work." Harry looked at her for a few moments before continuing. "There is one other thing. Your living arrangements. _Our_ living arrangements. We …... I enjoy having you here. I was thinking …..."

Harry stopped speaking, and swallowed heavily. Ruth turned slightly under his arm, and looked at him.

The great Harry Pearce was stuck for words.

* * *

_**A/N: A couple of reviewers asked how it was Elena knew about Ruth – and vice versa. I have deliberately left these questions unanswered, and they will remain that way now Elena is dead. However, Harry surmised in Chap 4 how it was possible that (perhaps) the FSB could have known about his relationship with Ruth, and that Elena chose to capitalise on that.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: This is an M-rated chapter, so be warned. (Moths to a flame, right?)**_

* * *

"Spit it out, Harry. That's the best way. Whatever it is you want to say, say it."

He took another deep breath, and then continued, afraid to look at her.

"I know how independent you are, Ruth. I know you value having your own place, and I understand that. It's just that you've been living here with me now for eleven days, and I don't think I could bear it were you to go home …... that's if you're thinking of going home. I thought you would, seeing that you're now a lot better, and -"

"Harry …."

"... you can fend for yourself without relying on me, and -"

"Harry …..."

"... you have every right to live wherever you want. After all, you're -"

"... an independent woman, yes I know all that. Harry, stop rambling, and say what you want to say."

Harry turned to face her, and in so doing they moved a little apart.

"Ruth," he said, barely able to look her in the eye. "Ruth, I would be very happy were you to move in with me. Here. Together. But of course, I understand it if -"

"Harry …... yes."

"_What_?"

"I'm saying yes. I thought you'd never ask. We've been almost living together for over two months now, and we've lived here together for eleven days …... not long, I know, but long enough to know we're compatible. I've packed my things in a bag, but that's because I thought I might move into your bedroom …... if that's alright with you. I slept in your bed last night, and it's very comfortable."

"You slept in my bed?"

Ruth nodded.

"Without me in it?"

"Yes, but that's only because you were in that safe house. Had you been home, I suppose we would have slept together. I think it's time we took that step, and it might be difficult were I to be in my flat with you here …... and commuting between your place and mine is all very well in the early stages of a relationship, but we're …... further on now. We're -"

"... a couple."

"Yes we are …. but we always have been, Harry. We were together even before we knew we were.

Everyone other than us knew we belonged together. I think it's about time we took the plunge. If we need space from one another, there are other bedrooms in the house that we can use, and the lease on my flat has another three months to run, so I'll keep it until then. I feel a commitment to you, and you've demonstrated how you feel about me. I'm not saying it will be easy."

"We'll no doubt fight."

"I prefer the word, `disagree'."

"And our disagreements have the habit of developing into full scale war."

"Harry, they don't have to. We have to talk to one another, rather than bottling things up."

"I know we do. I'm not terribly good at …... talking. I can talk at work, but when it's personal, I …..."

"Then you'll have to learn, Harry. You're not too old to learn a new skill. We have to talk before the emotion gets too high and overwhelms us."

"And we have to leave work at work," he said.

"That will be difficult, but necessary …... if we're to make it."

"We'll make it, Ruth. We love one another too much to allow what we have to die."

"Do you think all those thousands of people in those thousands of marriages which end in divorce didn't love one another? We need more than love to keep us together."

"But there's that song which says: _Love will keep us together_."

"Lots of songs lie. We need love, but we also require commitment, persistence, tolerance, compassion, communication -"

"This sounds like an large-scale operation, Ruth."

"It _is_ an operation. It's _our_ operation. The principles are the same. For you and me this _is_ life and death."

Harry had been watching her face as she spoke, her whole face animated, her passion high. He reached down and kissed her, lightly at first, and then harder, mouths open, tongues busily inquisitive, passion heightened. Ruth leaned back against the cushions, but not before she'd lifted her jumper over her head, and tossed it on to the floor, mumbling something about feeling `really hot'. As she adjusted her back against the cushions, he took off his own jumper, as well as the t-shirt he wore underneath. When he leaned back towards Ruth, his hands slipped under her camisole, and his fingers found her breasts, where he teased her nipples, eliciting a moan from her, as she arched her back, exposing her neck to his mouth. This time they would not be stopping before things went too far. This time was for them.

The sofa on which they now lay - she on her back, and he partly on top of her, but with the bulk of his weight positioned beside her – had seen a lot of action between Harry and Ruth. During the previous two months, they had conducted the bulk of their snogging on top of it, only very occasionally allowing themselves to lie beside one another, exploring the body of the other. They had always remained clothed, even if only partly, and they had never had intercourse, although in the days prior to Ruth being shot, they had had one very late night session on the couch in which Harry had brought her to orgasm with his fingers. Ruth had wanted to return the favour for him, but he had pushed her hand away before she'd had a chance to touch him.

"I don't want you to be doing that for me, Ruth."

"Why not? You did it for me? I want to."

"And I want to wait until we're ready to go all the way with one another. Until then, I can wait."

"You're a rare man, Harry Pearce," Ruth had said.

They had agreed to take things slowly, but within their agreement to live together had been an unspoken pact that the time for `taking things slowly' was over. Ruth was relieved. Harry was relieved. By the time they had realised where this snogging session was headed, they were each almost naked, and their passion for one another was on a trajectory of its own. Things were on the cusp of being out of their control. Ruth still wore her knickers, although Harry had slipped his fingers under the leg elastic, and was stimulating her with his fingers while he kissed her mouth soundly. Her first orgasm was only seconds away. Harry had pressed his body against Ruth, his erection resting against the outside of her thigh. Her hand slipped down and he felt her fingers brushed along the front of his trunks where his erection stretched the fabric. _Yes, there is quite a lot of him there_, she thought. He groaned into her mouth.

Ruth tumbled into her first orgasm with Harry's fingers inside her, and his mouth covering one of her nipples. As she began to stabilise, she became aware that Harry had removed his trunks, and was about to position himself between her legs, when he realised that first he needed to remove her underwear. He lay that way, across one of her legs, his penis hard against her inner thigh, his breathing shallow, his eyes on her face for a minute or two. When Ruth at last opened her eyes, she saw him looking at her, and she knew he was having difficulty maintaining his normal steely control over his body. _We'd never have made it up the stairs_, she thought. _ At least the sofa is familiar to us, and it's more comfortable than the floor …... or the stairs_. Ruth positioned her thumb under the waistband of her knickers, reminding Harry that the next step they took would be awkward were she still wearing them. He gave her a slight smile, and then lifted himself off her so that he could slide her last piece of clothing from her body.

Having removed her knickers and thrown them on the floor, he parted her legs with one hand, and climbed between them, settling his body over her. She had a heightened awareness of his penis resting hotly against her entrance, and then she smiled, feeling his belly resting against her, and his chest gently touching her breasts. Their bodies breathed as one. This was who they were …... Harry and Ruth, together, as one.

"Is this okay with you, Ruth?" He breathed the words, barely capable of speech.

"What do you think?" Her voice was lazy with satisfaction.

"I think you're fine with this. I had plans for us to maybe do this in bed tonight, but …... it seems …."

"We can't wait, Harry. Let's …..."

Ruth was unable to finish her sentence. Harry had pushed himself into her, and she'd gasped with the sensation of him being inside her at last. He was magnificent. He filled her. _Why have we __waited so long for this_, she asked herself. _This is bloody marvellous_.

He began to move slowly, pushing her back against the cushions as he did so. She opened her eyes at last and saw his looking at her with lust, gratitude, amazement, and love. His face was so close to her own, that she could feel his breath on her face, hear a strangled sound from his throat each time he breathed out. She sensed he was trying hard to control his movements inside her, and his response. Harry was very close to climax, but was waiting for her.

"Here, Harry," she said, touching herself on her right breast. Your mouth."

Her breaths were so shallow she could barely speak, but he got the message loud and clear, and took her nipple in his mouth, and rolled his tongue around it, in between drawing it deeper into his mouth. It was when he heard her gasps, and felt her pelvic muscles contracting around him that he let go, thrusting deeper inside her, where his full release took place. He gasped her name, burying himself as deeply as he could reach. He took his weight on his elbows, but he allowed his head to rest on Ruth's shoulder, while she cradled his head with her hands, running her fingers through the sweaty curls at the back of his head.

Once their breathing was slow enough for them to speak, Harry lifted his head to look at her, and asked, "Was that …...?"

"Good? Satisfactory?" Harry nodded, his insecurity evident in his expression. "Harry, despite us being on the sofa, with your pet dog only a few feet away, no doubt watching us the whole time, that was …... bloody fantastic!"

Harry grinned widely, and dipped his head to kiss her mouth. "Glad to hear it," he said quietly. "I was afraid I might have forgotten how to do it."

"Isn't sex like riding a bicycle? Once you do it, you never lose the knack."

"I'm not sure I could ride a bicycle any more, Ruth."

"I know it's been a long time for you, but you were …... wonderful. Couldn't you tell?"

"You seemed to be enjoying yourself, but …... I thought I might have been imagining it." He waited a moment before he continued. "I know I promised you a hotel room in Paris, or at the very least, a bed. I'm sorry -"

"Harry, don't you dare apologise for what we've just done. I loved it. It was perfect. Spontaneous, passionate …... it was us doing what we do best …... loving one another."

"You're right," he conceded quietly.

Harry pulled out of her, and rolled off her body so that he could lay on his side beside her, his arms around her, while Ruth's hand rested at the back of his neck, her fingers caressing the ends of his hair. Their faces were still close, and Harry couldn't take his eyes from her.

Suddenly it hit him. He and Ruth had just made love. They had done it. He had contemplated this, thought about it, fantasised about it, pulled himself off in the shower imagining how it might feel to be inside her, and nothing that had taken place in his imagination had come anywhere close to the reality. Apart, they were awkward, uncomfortable, two halves of a whole who had difficulty in determining how they fit together, while together they were perfection. Everyone with a pulse craves what he and Ruth already had. He was a lucky man, far luckier than he deserved, and he was sure that he didn't deserve her.

They went to bed early, snuggled up to one another, their arms wrapped around each other. Ruth thought it remarkable that throughout their lovemaking, she had not once thought about her wounded left shoulder. They lay naked beneath the duvet in Harry's bed – remarkably now _their_ bed – and talked quietly until Ruth fell asleep. Harry left the bed, and first putting on his bathrobe, he tidied the kitchen, stacked the dishwasher, and then watched a bit of TV until he, too, felt tired enough to join Ruth under the duvet. The truth was that his head was spinning with what they'd done that night, and he'd needed to step away for a moment and occupy himself with the mundane.

* * *

Despite it being Sunday, Harry woke early, and coaxed Ruth awake by running his fingertips across her cheek, around her jaw, and then down her throat, and across her chest and abdomen to her belly button. He was about to explore her skin further when she stretched her body in a way that had him hard before she'd even opened her eyes. _ Is this the way it will always be for us?_ he thought. _How can we work together with memories of this intimacy so fresh in our minds? _ _How can we look at one another across the Grid without wanting to continue what we did the night before? _ They would have to. Either that, or he'd have to retire, and allow her to support them both, not that he'd be poor when he retired. That would have to be a discussion for another time. Ruth had curved her body against his, and was kissing his throat and neck, while running her fingers over his belly. When her fingers slid over his erection, he groaned, searching for her mouth, so that he could kiss her. Their kiss was long and slow and deep, with Ruth's hand all the while moving up and down on his cock, and he was sure he was as hard as it was possible for a human male to be. If he didn't find his way inside her soon, it would be all over.

"Ruth," he said into her mouth, trying to pull his body away from her – and not succeeding. "_Stop_." The word was said with urgency this time, as he pulled his lower body away, and pushed her hand off him. He slid down the bed, parted Ruth's legs, and buried his face in her sweetness. He brought her to orgasm with just his mouth, and then as he shifted himself up to lie beside her, he felt her hand on him again. This time she was guiding him into her, with her leg resting over his hip to bring their bodies closer.

"_Now_, Harry," she said breathlessly. "I want you inside me now."

Despite his panic from minutes earlier, he moved slowly inside her, giving them both time to enjoy the act, without worrying about the response of the other. Harry was able to last a long time, slowly gliding in and out of her, his eyes on hers. He was not as anxious for release as he had been the night before, but their first coupling had been for him the ending of a very long period of sexual abstinence. He had been saving himself for Ruth, and now he is glad he had. Putting off their shared moment of most intense pleasure was easier this time, but he knew they couldn't last forever. Eventually be felt Ruth's internal muscles tightening around him, and he knew he could no longer hold off his own climax. He felt her hands either side of his face as he pushed himself into her. He opened his eyes for a moment, seeing joy and gratitude and bliss in her own eyes, as his orgasm pulled him into her as deeply as he could reach.

They lay in one another's arms exhausted, spent, until a slight movement of the mattress, followed by the clicking of claws on the floorboards told them that Scarlet had had enough, and was leaving.

"Did you know she was on the bed?" Harry asked Ruth.

"Yes. She was next to me, keeping her eyes on me."

"Do you think there might be something wrong with her?"

"No, Harry, I think Scarlet is just lonely. I've been monopolising you, so she has to be here when we make love, otherwise she'd never see you."

"You're a wise woman, Ruth."

"I know."

"Are you hungry?"

"Starving."

* * *

_**A/N: Epilogue up next.**_


	8. Epilogue

_**A/N: This is the epilogue to this story. I had a huge amount of fun writing it, so I hope you enjoyed reading it. Thanks again to all those who have left reviews. I have enjoyed reading them.**_

* * *

Ruth began work the next day, arriving with Harry, walking through the sliding doors beside him. No-one on the floor of the Grid seemed perturbed. Ruth watched carefully, as heads lifted and turned to watch them. There was no shock, no sniggers, no words spoken behind hands, but there were smiles, and greetings of, `Welcome back, Ruth.' Before Harry turned to enter his office, he caught her eye and winked at her, an intimate, `I told you it would be fine' kind of wink. She smiled back.

Ruth had no sooner seated herself at her desk, and turned on her computer, than Erin stepped up and leaned towards her, one hand on the end of Ruth's desk.

"Is everything fine with you?" she asked. "Your injury, I mean. Are you well enough to work?"

"I believe so. I've promised Harry that if I feel any level of exhaustion, I'll go home."

"Good, and how is Harry? After his night in the safe house."

"Harry's fine. All he needed was a decent meal and a long sleep." _Followed by some truly magnificent sex_, she thought, smiling to herself.

Ruth looked up from her monitor, but Erin had gone.

"She means well," Calum whispered from the desk next to her. "That was her way of saying it's okay with her if you and the boss are sha-"

"_Calum!_"

"Sorry. Inappropriately familiar comment. My mouth speaks before I have time to check the content it's about to deliver. Just in case you care about what I think, Harry has been much nicer to me since you've been …... you know. So you and he have my blessing …... for what it's worth. Anything to make my life easier."

Ruth decided to ignore him before she heard anything else that fell unchecked from his mouth. She gave him a weak smile, and then busied herself on her computer. She knew Calum meant well.

Ruth spent the morning checking and re-checking the details around Ed Field's activities since he'd been decommissioned from the CIA. Lucy had already created a significant dossier on the former agent, but Ruth was able to identify his presence in Eqypt and Libya, Syria and Turkey in the past six months alone. It was possible that he had influence all around North Africa and the Middle East. His involvement with the Gavriks and Russia may only be the tip of an enormous iceberg of activity. She had yet to uncover a clear and definite pattern of activity, but it seemed that his brief had been to create instability in countries with stable economies. It was possible that his plan to have Harry implicated in Elena Gavrik's murder was just a small part of a much bigger plan.

The day passed quickly for her, and by the time 6pm came around, she was ready for home. She looked up to see Harry standing beside her desk.

"Home time?" he said, holding out her coat for her to step into.

She nodded, and then stood while he held the coat out for her, and she slipped her arms into the sleeves. As she turned her back towards him and closed a couple of buttons on the coat, she felt his arms slide around her waist, and his lips on her cheek.

"Someone might be watching," she whispered.

"Then they'll see their boss displaying affection towards his partner. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Ruth turned in his arms, and looked up at him. "I suppose not," she replied, before he kissed her lightly on the lips.

"It's only Dimitri, Erin and Calum. Everyone else left an hour ago ….. as you should have."

"I might leave a bit earlier tomorrow," she said. "I'm quite tired."

"It's my turn to cook dinner," Harry said, leading her from the Grid, his hand on the small of her back.

* * *

After dinner – which Harry had cooked, and even cleaned up after – they sat together on the sofa, Scarlet curled up at Harry's feet. Every so often, he'd rub his socked foot over the old dog's back, just to let her know he was there, and wasn't about to go away.

"I have something I want to show you, Ruth," Harry said after a long while, sitting up and away from her so that he could undo the buttons of his shirt.

"God, Harry, you're insatiable. You'll have to do all the work, though. I'm beat."

He'd opened the buttons, but his shirt was still closed. "This isn't about sex, Ruth. Even I am exhausted today. I'll need at least another day or two to recover from our weekend." He turned to face her, keeping his shirt closed. "Do you remember what I promised you while you were emerging from unconsciousness after you were shot?"

"Something about matching wounds. I can't remember."

"You told me that I talked bollocks."

Ruth sat back against the back of the sofa, and watched Harry's face, trying to recall the words he'd spoken. All she can remember was that it was a very strange thing for him to be promising.

"Does this ring a bell?"

Harry opened his shirt, and pulled it off his left shoulder – the shoulder where he had a knotted scar from where Tom Quinn had shot him. Ruth had run her fingers over and around that scar many times, but last time she'd seen Harry's naked torso – only that morning when they'd showered together before work – there had been no tattooed heart around the scar, and no `Ruth' written inside the heart, the lettering curly and ornate.

"Harry!" she said, reaching out to touch the heart and her name within the heart. "But it's not a tattoo. Were it a tattoo, your skin would be red and sore. What is it? Who did it?"

"This afternoon when I said I had a meeting with Towers, I went to Camden. You know that woman who paints kids' faces at the Camden market? I rang Alec yesterday while you were in the shower, and I got him to book me in to have it done this afternoon. What do you think, Ruth?"

"It's lovely, even if it is a little weird."

"Weird?"

"It's not like you to have your body painted with a woman's name."

"This isn't just any random name, Ruth. This is yours." He waited for a moment, but she didn't reply, her attention being fully taken by his uncharacteristic gesture. "Ruth, just before you woke up after your operation, I promised you that if you came back to me, I'd have a heart with your name inside it tattooed around my own gunshot scar. The paint should hold up for a few washes, but eventually it will wash off. What do you think? "

"I like it, but why didn't you have it tattooed? Surely that represents a real commitment to us, while this is – what? - two or three days."

"More if I don't wash."

"I prefer you washed, thank you."

"Besides," Harry went on, "I hear that it really hurts to have a tattoo."

"Harry, you're sporting a bloody scar from where Tom shot you at almost point blank range, and you're being all girly about the prospect of a tattoo _hurting_?"

"I hate needles. Always have."

"Now I know what to have put on your epitaph …...

_Harry Pearce_

_loving father of Catherine and Graham_

_devoted partner of Ruth_

_Hates needles, prefers being shot_

_Rest In Peace_"

"That makes me sound a bit psycho, Ruth."

"If the cap fits."

"Do you mean it?"

"Do I mean what?"

"That you'd put yourself on my epitaph and declare us as `devoted'."

"I don't see why not, although why any sensible woman would be devoted to someone who prefers being shot to having a tattoo is beyond my comprehension."

"I didn't say I preferred being shot."

Ruth began running her finger over the scar, and around the heart on Harry's shoulder. It was when her finger followed the flow of the letters making her name that she again spoke.

"Will you have it tattooed into your skin if I do too?"

"You mean, you'd have a heart with your name inside it tattooed around your scar? Why would you do that?"

"No Harry, I'd have a heart with _your_ name tattooed around my scar. It represents a commitment. I'd have to wait a couple of months until the skin around the wound is no longer tender, and by then we'll know for sure whether we're a goer or not."

"Do you think we might not stay together?"

"No, Harry. I see us staying together forever. We've lived through so much, and we're still here. Most couples don't have to endure even half of what we have. What we've been through has served to weld us to one another, and we're now inseparable. Were I to lose you now, I'd have a difficult time going on. I would, but I would only be half alive. I love you, and I want to demonstrate that – to you, to myself – in some way which cannot be broken. Separation is too easy, divorce is easy, but having a tattoo removed is hell."

Ruth pulled Harry's shirt closed, and began to do up the buttons. He reached down to her and touched her lips with his own. "Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For loving me as powerfully as you do."

"It's not easy …... but it's worth it."

Suddenly Scarlet jumped up on the sofa and settled in the space between them. Harry went to grab her and put her on the floor.

"Leave her, Harry. I love you enough to be able to share you with your dog."

He leaned back, and reached across Scarlet to hold Ruth's hand. His gaze said `I love you', while Scarlet's look at Ruth through furry eyebrows said, `When are you leaving?'

Ruth lay back against the back of the sofa contented, fulfilled, her hand in Harry's. So long as Scarlet never learned to speak, her life with Harry would be wonderful.


End file.
